


Part 11: Justin

by oiuytrewq36



Series: We Will Survive [11]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26026873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oiuytrewq36/pseuds/oiuytrewq36
Summary: Debbie is behind the counter. “Sunshine! Brian didn’t tell me you were back in town!”I sit down at one of the stools. “I just got in last night."As usual, she doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s wrong, honey?”I look around at the busy diner, think about getting up and leaving. “I don’t want to talk about it.”She holds up an apron. “Want to make yourself useful? The new busboy takes smoke breaks every ten minutes and spills the coffee two out of every three times he pours it.”
Relationships: Brian Kinney/Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk)
Series: We Will Survive [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1881736
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50





	Part 11: Justin

Right before everything goes to shit, my day is going great.

I’m on my back, hands bound above my head with silk ribbon, and Brian is fucking me deliciously slow and hard and deep. I loop my tied wrists over his head to pull him down for a kiss, and he moans softly into my mouth as he grinds down into me with spine-meltingly perfect aim.

I tilt my head back and focus on soaking all of it in, this, him, everything, so that when I’m back in my bedroom in New York two days from now I’ll be able to close my eyes and be here again. 

He shifts above me and the change in angle makes me gasp. He laughs, the low, dark laugh that I think I’ve now heard more times over the phone than I have in person. “Like that?”

“Mmmm,” I say, settling back into the pillows.

I lift my head up a little to kiss him again. “So, have anyone good lately?”

He laughs again. “Guy at the gym the other day. Fucked him in the steam room.”

“Oh, yeah?” I wrap my legs a little tighter around his waist. “How was he?”

“Pretty good. Tight, vocal, nice big dick.”

I grin at him. “Size queen.”

He reaches between us to start jerking me off. “Watch it.”

I bite his nose. “I’m surprised the gym has any members left that you haven’t already done.”

He’s saying something back about out-of-towners and liking a challenge, but I’m not really listening because I’m coming now, one of those drawn-out liquid ones that turn all my bones to spaghetti. 

Brian comes soon after, rocking into me and gasping hitched little moans into my neck, and then he unties me, kissing my wrists and rubbing the feeling back into my hands.

“That was amazing,” I tell him, stretching happily. He hums into my shoulder. A moment later, he rolls off of me toward the bedside table. When he turns back, he’s holding a piece of paper and wearing an expression that I can’t read.

“Don’t be mad, okay?” Uh-oh.

I sigh. “What is it?”

He hands me the paper. It has a bunch of long numbers, one of which looks like-

“This is the account number and PIN for a bank account I opened the other day,” he says. Double uh-oh.

“Brian,” I say, trying to keep my voice more steady than I feel. “What the _fuck_ did you do?”

He puts one hand up to my cheek. “Remember how we decided to sell the house?”

“Uh, yeah, four years ago. But what-”

“So it sold before the recession hit, which was lucky, and-”

“Brian,” I say again. “Get to the point.”

He sighs. “For a long time, I didn’t know what to do with the money, so it just sat there earning interest. Then, the last time I visited you, I had an idea.”

“Tell. Me. What. You. Did."

“Your name was on the deed to the house. It was every bit as much yours as it was mine.”

Shit. I look at the paper. “Is this-”

“It’s a joint account,” Brian says. “All the money from the sale is in there, in both our names.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” I can’t look at him right now, so I roll onto my back and look at the ceiling instead.

Unfortunately, I don’t have to be facing him to know that he has on that kicked-puppy look he gets when he’s afraid he’s about to lose me. “Are you angry?”

“I’m-” I cover my face with my hands, then slide them up into my hair. “When I told you I didn’t want help when I went to New York, was I not clear? Did I not make it _absolutely fucking unambiguous_ that although I appreciate all the support you’ve given me in the past, I needed to do this on my own?”

“You did, but-”

I push his hand off my face. “I love that you want to protect me, to take care of me. You know that. But I also need you to be able to let me do shit on my own, without your help!”

He jumps off the bed and stands up, suddenly looking livid. “We are fucking _partners_!” he shouts. “If we had gotten married and gone to live in West Virginia, the house would have belonged to both of us! How is this any different?”

“We wouldn’t have lasted a year in West Virginia, and you goddamn well know it!” I yell back.

He stares at me, eyes wide, and then slides down the wall and puts his face in his hands. I look at the paper and decide that I cannot fucking deal with this right now. I drop it on the bed, then pull on my jeans and pick up my sweatshirt from the floor.

“What are you doing?” he asks, muffled behind his hands.

I laugh, totally humorless. “I’m going out. Don’t call me.”

I leave him sitting there, huddled against the bedroom wall, and I’m almost to the door when I realize that I can’t do this, not without saying one more thing.

He looks up at me through his fingers when I come back in, so pathetically hopeful that I don’t know if I want to slap him or hold him.

I take his hands away and kiss him as hard as I can, putting everything I have into it, and he surges up desperately, clutching my hair and gasping. I pull back.

“I love you,” I say, “and I am _not_ leaving you. But I need some space right now. Okay?”

He takes my right hand, runs his own fingers over my not-wedding ring. God fucking dammit. “Okay.”

I kiss him one more time, quick but deep, and then I’m through the loft, out the door, down the stairs, and out onto the streets of Pittsburgh, wondering what the hell I’m going to do next.

***

After an hour or so of mindless wandering, I end up outside the diner. I look inside - it’s the lunch rush, great for tips but bad for hanging out with friends during your shift - weigh my options, and push the door open.

Debbie is behind the counter. “Sunshine! Brian didn’t tell me you were back in town!”

I sit down at one of the stools. “I just got in last night.”

As usual, she doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s wrong, honey?”

I look around at the busy diner, think about getting up and leaving. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She holds up an apron. “Want to make yourself useful? The new busboy takes smoke breaks every ten minutes and spills the coffee two out of every three times he pours it.”

I lose myself in serving drinks and bussing tables for the next few hours, getting back into the familiar rhythm of the diner - lemon squares to go coming right up, yes, I am that artist kid, did you order fries with that?, seven fifty-four, tax included, can I get you a refill?

After the crowds have dissipated, Debbie hands me a broom. “Sweep, then talk.” No room for argument.

When the floor is sparkling clean, Debbie brings me a cup of coffee and a plate of fries, and I take off my apron and we sit together at the bar. “What happened?”

I rest my head on my forearms. “Brian did something stupid.”

She chuckles. “Of course he did. What is it this time?”

”Did we tell you about the house? The one in West Virginia?” I take a sip of my coffee. Still as terrible as I remember.

“Yeah. I thought Brian sold it,” she says.

“He did. But now he’s decided that since we would have lived there together if we’d gotten married, I have some kind of claim on the money from the sale, and he put it - all of it - into a joint account. He told me today.”

She whistles. “Shit.”

“I just can’t believe he’d do something like this again, after all this time, without even asking me first.”

“If he’d asked you, what would you have said?”

I think for a moment. “I don’t know. No, probably.”

Debbie turns to face me. “Look at me, Sunshine, and answer this honestly: do you want to stay with him?”

I sigh. “Yes.”

“Is he telling you that you have to use the money now, get a bigger studio or- I don’t know, buy a gallery or something?”

“No.”

“Did he give you access to all his finances, put your name on the deed to the loft, anything like that?”

“No.”

“Okay, then,” she says. She leans over and steals one of my fries. “So what’s the problem? It seems to me that Brian has made one of his rare grown-up decisions. He didn’t buy you another mansion, he didn’t move to New York on a whim, he didn’t flip out and fuck off to some distant homo paradise. He’s made you joint owner of a sum of money equal to the value of a house that you both would have owned together anyway.”

I drain the last of my coffee. “I just- I want to do things myself. My whole life, people have been clearing obstacles from my path, holding me up, and I just want to live self-sufficiently for once.”

She snorts. “Sunshine, do you think any of us can really live self-sufficiently without accepting any help from others, monetary or otherwise? The closest I’ve ever seen was Brian before he met you, and let me tell you, that’s not a life you want.”

She stacks the mug on the plate and gets off her stool. “Now, you go do whatever you need to do, but think about that, okay?” 

I stand up. Before I reach the door, I turn back. “Thanks, Deb.”

She waves me off. “Anytime, hon.”

***

Brian is smoking in bed when I get back. He sits up as I climb the stairs to the bedroom.

“Hey,” he says, softly.

“Hey.”

I shrug off my hoodie and slide into bed next to him. He puts an arm around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder.

“You’re right, you know,” he says.

I look at him.

“We wouldn’t have lasted, if we’d gotten married and moved to West Virginia back then. We would have resented each other, maybe even wound up hating each other.” He tightens his arm around me. “I never want that to happen.”

I turn my face into his neck. “I’m not angry that you want me to have access to the money.”

He leans back a little to look at me. “Oh?”

“I’m angry that you didn’t _talk_ to me about it first. We need to be making these decisions together, okay? You can’t just do something like this and then tell me about it out of the blue after it’s already done.”

“Okay,” he says, and I think he means it.

I nestle down further into his chest. “I love you.”

He kisses the top of my head. “I love you too.”

I take his right hand, stroke the ring on the third finger. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

"And we are _not_ done talking about this."

"Okay," he says again.

“But this has been a very long fucking day and I want to go to sleep.”

He just looks at me, and I sigh.

“Hold me?”

He smiles, just a little. “Always.”


End file.
